Tonight Was The Night
by FantomPhan33
Summary: Tonight was the night. The night Erik would at last get everything he ever dreamed of. However, dreams have a way of changing, just as his plans did the night of the masquerade ball…yet, would they be for the better?
1. Chapter 1

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**Hello again my fellow Phantom fans!**

**Here is a short little story that has been pinging around in my mind for a while...ever since a reader (I wish I could recall who it was) asked if I might ever write a Erik/Meg story. At the time I said I had no idea how one would go...but then this came to me. **

**I hope you enjoy the pairing.**

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**Tonight Was the Night**

**Chapter 1**

**~X~**

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Tonight was the night. The night Erik would at last get everything he ever dreamed of. He had been waiting for this moment for six long months, biding his time as he worked unceasingly to finish his opera. Don Juan Triumphant was now complete.

As Erik looked around the ballroom, the myriad of costumed guests all blending together, he spotted her at last. _Christine_. His protégé, his obsession, his angel of music. Oh, how she glowed, dancing in the center of the room…with that pathetic boy on her arm. It sickened him.

Erik had come to the masquerade early, wanting to get the lay of the land, and mingle amongst the sheep he would soon scare the fleece off of later on. No one would recognize him, for he too wore a disguise, one that allowed him the anonymity he both craved and needed for this evening's event. Oh, he had his terrifying Red Death costume waiting for him in one of his tunnels, ready to be donned and worn in a theatrical spectacle when he presented the managers with his opera. But for now, he blended in nicely wearing a matador's outfit, complete with a flowing red cape over one shoulder and a black leather mask that hid his deformity well.

Erik had never condoned bull fighting, having found the sport repulsively cruel, but the clothes worn by the Spanish matadors proved to be very flattering to his tall, lean form. The brightly decorated red and gold jacket, called the chaquetila, accented his upper body nicely, accompanied by the hombrera on his shoulder and the alamares about his forearms. He had chosen not to wear the traditional talequilla trousers, however, for he felt much more comfortable in long dress slacks than the tight-fitting pants that normally ended at the knee. The oddly shaped montera hat also had to go, making him feel as if he were sporting droopy dog ears, which was _not_ at all a pleasing look for him. Still, even without those elements, the costume fulfilled its purpose, and Erik felt completely hidden within plain sight.

He stood off to the side, watching that ridiculous dandy of a boy parade Christine around the room, introducing her to this person or that, acting as if she were a bauble he had bought at some expensive store. Yet what made his lip curl even more in disgust, was that she appeared to be enjoying it! His little pupil had always been rather flighty, never able to pass up a shiny trinket or pretty ribbon, and it would appear that she delighted in having the insipid Vicomte as her latest accessory.

Erik had purposefully avoided any contact with his little songbird during his absence from the Opera Populaire, choosing to focus on his music instead of what she was up to. Yet, now, as he watched her fawning over the boy on her arm, he began to believe that had been a mistake. She should know better! She was allowing this Raoul fellow to distract her from what was truly important…_his music!_

Well, _that_ would all change tonight, Erik thought to himself, reaching over and swiping a glass of champagne off a passing tray, eager to get a bit closer in hopes of hearing what was being said between the two lovers. Striding towards them, he was so focused on his goal that he failed to take notice of the lavishly dressed blonde-haired woman off to his right…until it was too late.

"Oh, there you are, Darling," she cooed, reaching out and taking hold of Erik's arm as she slipped the glass of champagne from his hand. "What took you so long, I was simply dying of thirst!"

Erik, obviously stunned by not only her touch, but her willingness to engage him in conversation, simply stared at her from behind his mask. Had she just called him _darling?_

"I fear there has been as mistake…" he began, yet she cut him off.

"Oh, that's alright, I don't mind champagne, even if I did ask you to get me wine," she assured him, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid. "This is quite delicious." She then turned to a man whom Erik suddenly noticed was standing beside her…and far too close for simply a mere acquaintance by _his_ way of thinking. "As you can see Monsieur, my escort for the evening has returned, just as I said. Thus, I will bid you goodnight." Erik watched as the man gave the woman a scowl, before turning and taking his leave, causing his curious companion to heave a sigh of relief. "Please forgive me, Monsieur, but I was desperate to get rid of that idiot, and he would simply not take no for an answer," she explained, giving him a sheepish grin from behind the mask that covered the upper portion of her face.

Erik was still quite stunned by this odd turn of events, yet now that he had a moment, he took the time to examine her closer. He allowed his eyes to graze over her rather colorful dress and bolero style jacket, topped off with a jaunty feathered hat. Yet, it was her hair and voice that ultimately gave her identity away…_it was little Meg Giry!_ However, Erik was struck with surprise at how the outfit clung to her shapely figure in a way he had never noticed before. Granted, the petite dancer had pranced around in tight fitting leotards and a tutu since she was old enough to walk, but suddenly Erik could see that Antoinette's little girl had grown into a woman, and quite a voluptuous one at that. When had _that_ happened?

"I…I am glad I could be of service, Mademoiselle, but if you would kindly remove your arm, I believe I will be going now," he told her, an odd sensation spreading through him as he stared at the portion of her body which was still entwined with his.

"Oh, but you can't!" Meg pleaded, gripping him a bit tighter. "That buffoon is still watching, and I don't want him to come back and call me on my ruse. Can you not stay just a little longer?" She bit her lip in worry. "Or…or are you here with someone and I am keeping you from them?"

"No," Erik quickly replied, aghast at the idea of him having a companion of any sort, yet wondering if he should have kept his mouth shut on that subject. "I am not here with anyone." _At least not yet,_ he thought to himself, his eyes once more searching the crowed for Christine.

"Wonderful! Then, might I interest you in a dance?" Meg asked, a grin now spreading across the portion of her face that Erik could see.

_"I_ do not dance," he told her in a dead-pan tone.

"Then what are you doing at a masquerade ball?" she teased, taking another sip of the drink she had confiscated.

"Attempting to avoid interacting with bothersome guests," he replied, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone. He was sadly disappointed.

"Perfect! So am I," Meg laughed. "We can avoid people together."

"Mademoiselle…" Erik began, but she cut him off.

"Meg," she offered. "My name is Meg."

"I know your name, Mademoiselle Giry," he huffed, really wishing she would just let him loose and go find someone else to converse with. He could easily have removed her hold himself, but he didn't want to make a scene or garnish any unwanted attention.

"You do?" This seemed to shock the young woman, causing her to look up at him with a curious tilt to her head. "Then you have me at a disadvantage, Monsieur. Might I inquire as to what _your_ name is, so we might be properly introduced?"

Erik froze…she wanted to know _his_ name? Well, this time she was going to be the one sadly disappointed.

"If you must address me at all, you may refer to me as The Matador," he instructed. "For that is the only title I shall be offering tonight."

"Ahhh, a man of mystery, it would seem," she giggled, not at all deterred by his lack of information. "Then Monsieur Matador it shall be. Still, might I ask how it is you know my identity?"

"I have frequented this opera house a time or two over the years," he replied. Of course, _that_ was an understatement if there ever was one. "I have seen you dance several times."

"And did my performances please you, Monsieur Matador?" she questioned, looking as if she were eager to hear his reply.

"Occasionally," he nodded, though in truth he had always found her movements to be the most fluid and graceful out of all the irritating ballet rats. He attributed this to her mother's diligent teaching, as well as Meg's eagerness to excel. "I fear I normally come for the music, more than the dance."

"Yes, well, one can't have a decent opera without the chorus line, now can they?" she muttered, as if this was an old grievance. "Not _all_ of us can have the voice of an angel, you know."

"No, I suppose not," Erik nodded, his mind once more returning to Christine.

"Still, not every singer can dance either," she added, her mood brightening. "And thus, I ask again…would you care to dance?"

"As I stated before, I do _not_ dance," Erik repeated.

"Is that because you can't, or you won't?" Meg pressed.

"Won't," he answered curtly.

"Not even if I ask very nicely?" she pouted, sticking her lip out in a way that made Erik's eyes instantly focus in on her tantalizing mouth. _What was wrong with him?_

"No," he managed to get out, yet his hesitation seemed to give her hope.

"Then I suppose until you change your mind, we will simply have to stand here and make scintillating conversation," Meg deduced, finishing off the glass of champagne and placing it on a tray as a waiter passed by.

"Are you then to hold me hostage until I agree?" Erik enquired, raising an eyebrow that she could not see. Oh the foolish girl, she had no idea who she was dealing with.

"It's the only way for me to avoid that greasy brigand who seems dead set on monopolizing my entire evening," she said with a shrug of her shoulders, nodding her head towards the man who continued to watch them from the other side of the room. She then batted her eyes at her masked companion in the loveliest manner. "You wouldn't leave me at the mercy of a fiend like him…would you?"

Erik almost laughed out loud at her choice of words. She thought _that_ man a fiend? While unbeknownst to her, she was at that very moment conversing with none other than the infamous Opera Ghost himself. How amusing.

Still, this presented Erik with an intriguing opportunity. Here he was, in disguise, currently on the arm of a very lovely lady, who saw him as her white knight. Shouldn't he take advantage of such an offer and actually find out what it was like to spend an evening with a willing woman?

Oh, he wouldn't take any liberties, that was quite out of the question, for should Antoinette Giry find out, there would be no place on this planet that he could hide from her vengeance. His box-keeper was the one and only person Erik feared crossing…ever! Yet, what harm could a few drinks, a bit of conversation, and maybe even a dance or two cause? It wasn't as if anyone would ever find out.

Erik glanced at the clock, noticing that he still had several hours before he had intended to make his appearance to the managers dressed as Red Death. And with one final look at the seemingly happy Christine, he decided that for once, the Opera Ghost would attempt to have a bit of fun.

What a novel idea.

"No, Mademoiselle Giry, I would _not_ leave you at the mercy of such a man," he told her, the corners of his lips curling into a small grin at his words. "And if it will aid in the ruse that we are indeed a couple, I suppose a short turn around the room will not hurt."

"Marvelous!" Meg squealed, delighted by his acceptance. "Shall we then?"

"Most certainly," Erik nodded, taking her hand in his gloved one as he led her towards the dance floor. It was a rather fast paced waltz, but thankfully one he was quite familiar with, and soon the two of them were gliding around the room as if they were seasoned partners.

"Monsieur Matador, I must say, you dance divinely," Meg complimented, loving how well they seemed to fit together, his one hand in hers, the other on her waist. He was not too tall, nor was he too short, in fact he was just the right size for dancing, made even more clear when he twirled her under his arm before bringing her back against his firm body. "I'm extremely pleased that you changed your mind, for I would not have missed out on this for anything."

"I am happy my skills do not disappoint," he stated, and if a touch of smugness was heard in his tone, well…he felt he was entitled. Erik had gone to great lengths to learn how to dance, all alone in his underground lair, hoping to one day find an occasion to put the talent to use. "And coming from such a proficient dancer as you, that is indeed a compliment."

"Oh, now I'm _proficient, _am I?" she teased. "When just a few moments ago, you insinuated that I was merely passable."

"I said no such thing," he objected, hating to be misquoted. "I simply stated that your dancing pleased me _on occasion_."

"Meaning that on other occasions, it did not," she pointed out.

"You are twisting my meaning, Mademoiselle Giry," he huffed.

"Meg…please call me Meg," she offered once more. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to presume your intentions when you spoke. I will take whatever compliment I can and be happy with it." Here she gave him a small smile, but it was more than obvious that it did not reach her eyes.

Erik stared at her for a few moments, the rest of the dancers spinning around them as they continued to glide across the floor. He instantly recognized the look that crossed her features…that of rejection. It was something he was more than familiar with himself, and it bothered him to think that Meg doubted her talent in any way.

_"If_ I am forced to admit my true opinion on the matter of your dancing skills," Erik said with a sigh, completely unsure as to why he felt the sudden need to alleviate her fears. "Then I would have to say that you hold great promise, and are certain to one day rival even your mother on the stage."

_"Really?"_ Meg sounded quite flabbergasted by his words, not expecting anything of the sort from the man who claimed to be more interested in music than dance. All her life she had dreamed of being as good as her mother, working twice as hard as everyone else simply to be noticed, and to have a complete stranger praise her this way, well, it felt amazing. "I…I don't know what to say. Thank you very much."

"I speak only the truth," Erik replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of words of gratitude. "Now, are we going to dance, or talk?"

"Can we not do both?" Meg asked with a sly grin, swaying this way and that as he led her expertly through the moves. "I have to say I'm beginning to enjoy our conversation as much as dancing with you."

"Only because you are being praised, Mademoiselle Meg," he teased. "If I were to remain silent, you would grow bored with me soon enough."

"Perhaps," she mused. "Yet thus far, you have fully intrigued me, and I find I would very much like to know more about you."

At that, Erik did let out a bark of laughter, the very idea of her finding out who she was dancing with being both ludicrous and rather detrimental…for everyone. In the past, it had always been Meg who was quick to announce his ghostly presence or blame some mishap on him. Not that it didn't normally work to his ultimate advantage, but it would certainly put a kink in his plans tonight. Still, while hidden behind his mask and the matador's costume, Erik felt somewhat safe.

"How about we simply enjoy the evening and leave such mundane matters alone," he suggested. "Tonight is all about mystery, and I would hate to ruin the fun by revealing too much to you."

"If you insist, yet I have been told I am very persistent…as well as astute," she warned. "I might glean more from your words than you think, Monsieur Matador."

"We shall see," he chuckled. "We shall see."

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They continued to dance, making light conversation as the music allowed, yet soon Meg guided the two of them over to a refreshment table. After partaking of another glass of champagne, they stood there in companionable silence as they watched the guests mill around them.

"Do you live in the area, Monsieur Matador?" Meg questioned, raising the flute to her lips once more as she gazed up at him.

"I live…nearby," he replied vaguely.

"I do as well," Meg teased. "Right up stairs in fact, in the dorms. My mother has her own room, but I prefer to share with the other dancers. Camaraderie is important you know."

"I will take your word on that," Erik nodded, also sipping at his drink. Comrades were something he was not familiar with…unless you counted that pesky Persian who was dead set on keeping tabs on him. Granted, the man had saved his life…but only once, and it had been a very long time ago. Was there a statute of limitations on a life debt? Erik certainly hoped so.

"My roommate is right over there," Meg continued, pointing towards Christine who was not far away, still in the arms of the Vicomte. "She was in the chorus with me, but recently she has been promoted to understudy to Carlotta. She really is a marvelous singer," here Meg couldn't help but let out a short laugh. "Much better than she ever was at dancing." However, her look of mirth quickly turned to one of shame as she covered her lips with her fingertips. "Oh, that was unkind of me! I don't want you to think I was making fun of her, she is my dearest friend, but let's just say her true calling is music, not the ballet."

"Do not worry, I completely agree with you," Erik chuckled, recalling how Christine always looked like a baby dear on ice when she danced. Her talent had always been in her voice…not her feet.

"Oh? So, you've heard her sing?" Meg inquired.

"I was there the night she debuted in Hannibal," he explained, his mind drifting back to that triumphant night when his angel had soared to the heavens. "It was a night I will never forget, and I fully expect her to be featured in the upcoming season's performances as well."

"Not if our managers have any say in the matter," Meg huffed. "Those two wouldn't know talent if they tripped over it and got it stuck up their pompous noses."

Erik couldn't help but laugh at the girl's comical reference to Messieurs Debienne and Poligny. In fact, he found her description to be spot on. And as he took another sip of the bubbly liquid in his glass, Erik found that he was indeed having a very enjoyable time with Meg. Too bad masquerade balls came along so infrequently, otherwise he might be tempted to attend more of them in the future.

"MEG!" came a high-pitched voice from behind them, causing Erik to flinch. "There you are! Are you coming with us or not?"

Turning, he saw it was little Jammes, one of the flighty ballet rats, and often the first to faint whenever he played a prank on…well, anyone. She was accompanied by several more of the younger members of the corps de ballet, both male and female.

"I don't know," Meg hedged, looking from the pixy-like Jammes to Erik and then back. "I'm kind of engaged at the moment." Here she gave him a shy smile, apparently believing his companionship to be preferable over those of her friends.

This made Erik's heart beat faster in his chest. No one had ever chosen _his_ company over another…not even his poor mother! Yet, here was this delightful creature, willing to forgo some activity in order to remain at his side.

"But you have to come!" a few of the other girls insisted, reaching out as they tugged on her hand. "You're the only brave one among us! We would be lost without you, Meg!"

"Are you saying _we_ can't keep you safe from the Opera Ghost?" one of the male dancers spoke up, acting as if he was insulted by their accusation. "Meg's not the only one who knows how to enter his secret tunnels."

"However, I _am _the only one smart enough not to get caught in his traps," the blonde ballerina accused, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at the young man. "I think it's high time you all grew up and stopped flirting with death. You know that my mother has forbidden us from seeking out the Phantom. He has not been seen in months, so just leave him alone."

"Oh, come on! Since when do you listen to your mother?" another of the boys challenged her. He then looked over at Erik, giving a shrug of indifference. "You can invite your friend to come along if you want."

Erik stood there in shock. He was more than aware that during certain celebrations, such as this one, many of the troupe dared to venture down to the lower levels of the opera house in order to seek out his whereabouts. It had become something of a rite of passage for the newer performers. It was a nuisance, to be sure, but Erik had begrudgingly put up with such foolishness, often simply to amuse himself. Yet, here he was, not only listening to Meg defend his right to privacy but being invited to come along as they sought him out. Oh, if only they knew the truth!

Erik had every intention of turning down their offer, and oddly enough, asking Meg to remain with him…that is until he caught a curious stare from across the room. Unfortunately, it wasn't Meg's unwanted admirer that had spotted them, nor was it Christine and her well-to-do fop. _It was Madame Giry!_ He wasn't certain if her look of disapproval stemmed from the fact that her daughter was in the company of a strange man, or that she saw through his disguise and recognized him for who he truly was. And if Erik had any choice in the matter, he was not about to linger long enough to find out!

"I would very much enjoy scouting out this fabled Opera Ghost with you," he broke in, reaching out and taking Meg by the elbow in a gesture of compliance. "In fact, I think we should go right now."

"There, see," the tallest of the male dancers said with a smile. "He's not afraid to go."

"I never said _I_ was afraid to go anywhere!" Meg seethed. "I just said it was a childish venture. Still…it would appear that since I'm surrounded by a bunch of babies…" she let her sentence trail off with a heavy sigh of resignation.

"Does that mean yes?" Jammes asked, clapping her hands in glee. When Meg nodded, she was once again pulled towards the side exit of the ballroom by her friends, with Erik being shuffled along among the group.

Normally he would have balked at being hemmed in so closely by others, but after one final glance in Madame Giry's direction, Erik was only too happy for this odd form of protection. For Antoinette had been heading directly for them, and any opportunity to make his escape was preferable to the alternative. As they disappeared through the doorway that would take them to the lower levels, and out of his box-keeper's reach, Erik released a sigh of relief.

Yet, soon, as the small group began to make their way down the stairs…a sly grin graced his lips. Oh, _this_ could prove to be very entertaining. Very entertaining indeed.

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**Oh, Erik...what do you have up your sleeve? And while this might be entertaining for you, will it be so for those planning to search you out? Oh, if only they knew.**

**So, how do you like the pairing of Meg and Erik thus far?**

**And what adventures will they encounter in chapter two? Tune in and find out.**

**Sorry I have been away so long, I'm back over in the Hobbit forum writing there. If you are a fan of that universe, check out my work...it's under ThatOtherWriterGirl.**


	2. Chapter 2

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**Thanks for all your kind reviews and for reading my short little story. When I say short, I mean, this is the last chapter. I've never been able to write a one-shot, but I figured I could do a two-shot. ha ha. Though this chapter could easily be split in two, I decided not to. So enjoy this unusual pairing and thanks again.**

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**Chapter 2**

**~X~**

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It took a very short amount of time before they made it down to the fourth level, making their way through rooms filled with stage props and other items being stored for later use. Erik regularly ransacked them in search for items that could be of use in his underground home, but during his six-month self-imposed isolation, he could see that he was missing out. He took note of several pieces he felt would look lovely in his parlor, or his music room, intending to come back very soon and mysteriously make them vanish.

"I'm sorry about this," came Meg's voice in the dim light that surrounded the small group. Two of the men carried lanterns, but they were small and the light didn't carry very far. Erik imagined that they had planned it that way, for the other female dancers clung to them quite closely, obviously terrified to step outside the glowing circle. Yet, Meg didn't appear in any way nervous. Instead…apologetic. "I'm certain you would rather be doing anything other than wandering around in the dark looking for something we will never find."

"If you recall, I was the one who urged you to join this expedition," Erik reminded her, the two of them falling back just a bit in order to obtain a measure of privacy as they spoke. "And you believe our search will be in vain? Is that because this Opera Ghost does not exist, or because he is far too clever to be found?"

"Oh, the latter, to be sure!" Meg insisted. "The Opera Ghost exists, I have no doubt about that. Yet, as you said, if he does not wish to be found, he will not be…no matter how many times his domain is invaded."

"You appear to know a great deal about this phantom," Erik mused. "And what has you so thoroughly convinced of his existence?"

"Oh, I've seen him!" the petite dancer stated in a matter of fact tone. "Others merely claim to have, but I have seen him with my own eyes! He exists, Monsieur Matador, of that you can be assured." She then looked up at him and gave him a pained look. "Now you think me mad, don't you? Believing me to be some silly girl who claims the impossible."

"On the contrary, Mademoiselle Giry," he chuckled.

"Please, I've asked you before to call me Meg," she cut in.

"Very well, Meg," he agreed with a slight bow of his head. "I do not think you are mad, nor am I so quick to dismiss your word on the subject. I have been many places and seen many things in my lifetime. Belief in one spectral figure that haunts an opera house is hardly beyond my grasp of comprehension. If you believe he exists…that that is good enough for me."

"Well…thank you," Meg grinned, having thoroughly expected him to currently be laughing in her masked face over such claims. "Yet, do not get your hopes up over catching a glimpse of him, for we will not. The Phantom is not one to make appearances on command, nor is he foolish enough to be caught unaware. This is all a game for them," here she waved towards the small group just ahead. "They will scream, cling to each other, one or two might even faint, and then they will return above, and tell wild tales of what they believe they saw down here. None of it will be real, but it does help to keep the weak-minded afraid of him, so I guess it serves a purpose."

"Only the weak-minded?" Erik asked, his hidden eyebrow raised just a bit. "Are you saying there is no true need to fear this specter?"

At this, Meg gave a laugh, one that sent delightful shivers up Erik's spine. Why had he never taken time to notice this perfectly pleasant young lady?

"Oh no! Only the most foolish would think him benign," the blonde assured him. "You do not want to cross the Opera Ghost in any shape or form, believe me. Yet, if those, like my daring friends here, continue to spread rumors and fabrications of their encounters with him, it helps those who might truly be foolish enough to actually try and find him keep their distance. It is much like putting up a beware of dog sign. If they know the dog is dangerous, it will deter the wise from trying to pet him."

Erik was not sure he approved of her analogy. He was no _mad dog!_ Granted, he did carry a very frightful bark…as well as a bite when necessary, but he was not happy about being likened to a canine. Still, the idea brought back fond memories of his beloved childhood companion, Sasha, and that soothed his damaged ego somewhat.

"So…if this Opera Ghost is so vicious," Erik continued. "Then why are you willing to enter his lair? Do _you_ not fear him as the others do?" Erik was unsure how he wished for her to answer. For on one hand he had worked hard to strike fear into the hearts of those within his realm, desiring their unconditional obedience to his commands. And yet, the idea that this lovely woman might harbor an ounce of dread because of him suddenly turned his stomach.

"It's hard to explain," Meg said, her lips pursing in thought. "I know he's dangerous, I know he should not be crossed, and yet…I have never held the same feelings of terror that others have. I don't know why, but I simply can't generate the same level of fear that others hold for him."

Erik nodded his head, unable to find the right words to speak after her surprising statement. _Meg did not fear him._ She obviously respected him, of that he was certain, but she lacked the blood-curdling fear that struck the hearts of most whenever his name was mentioned. This pleased Erik very much…more than he expected it to, in fact.

"Which way now?" came the voice of one of the dancers in front of them, looking back at Meg for directions. "I've never gotten this far before."

Meg gave a sigh or resignation, rolling her eyes at the frightened sound of the girl's question. She was about to answer, but Erik stopped her.

"I say go left," he suggested. "Since the majority of the time, one will undoubtedly choose the right. Thus, I say by going left we will stand a better chance of finding what we seek."

The group ahead nodded in agreement, apparently seeing the logic in Erik's words, and veered to the left, heading down the tunnel at a slow pace.

"Well, aren't you being helpful," Meg grinned, finding her Matador's participation rather intriguing. The fact that she knew this was the very way one should go causing her to eye him suspiciously. Was he simply guessing…or did he know more than he was letting on?

"I do love a good mystery," he grinned, eager to see how the troupe would react to what he had planned for them up ahead. Most of the time no one ever got this far before, but what would it hurt to point them in the right direction this one time? Or in their case…the _wrong_ direction. "Come, let's keep up with them, we don't want to be lost down here in the dark, now do we?"

"No, of course not," Meg replied, yet he could hear a hint of laughter in her tone, betraying the fact that she was far from anxious over the possibility.

They traveled on, always heading in a downward direction, following the path that had been carved through solid stone. The eerie sound of water dripping here and there, as well as a few stray bats had the female dancers on edge, clutching even closer to their male counterparts as time went on. Erik was happy that the lack of light hid his smile, just imagining the reaction of what was quickly to come. Yet, he didn't wish for Meg to be frightened, so just before they reached the area he had boobytrapped, he reached out and took hold of her arm, just above her elbow, giving it a gentle tug.

"What?" Meg inquired, stopping as she looked up at her companion curiously.

"Nothing. I simply need a breather is all," he answered, feigning exhaustion, though he was anything but.

"Oh? Really?" she asked, sounding not in the least convinced.

Yet, before she could say any more, there came a loud booming sound from in front of them, followed by the screams of their companions, male and female alike. Meg pulled free of his grip and rushed ahead, nearly being shoved out of the way by one of the men as he ran towards them, obviously eager to get out of there and back to the surface.

Erik placed his gloved hand over his lips, stifling a laugh as he caught the distinct odor of urine as the dancer ran by. He had apparently been so frightened he soiled his pants!

He slowly drew near to where the commotion had stemmed, finding the girls still clinging to the one man as well as each other, attempting to calm their screams at the sight before them. It was merely a prop, a fabricated skeleton hanging from a thin wire, but Erik had to admit that adding the glowing eyes had been sheer genius on his part. A bit of phosphorous paint did wonders.

"Oh, come on," Meg said with a sigh of exasperation. "If _this_ sends you into hysterics, what would you actually do if you came face to face with the Opera Ghost himself?"

"What if that _is_ him, dead these past six months?" Jammes squealed, not even daring to look at it. "Bouquet always says he can burn us with the heat of his eyes!"

"It is highly unlikely that the Phantom has bones made of plaster of Paris," Meg pointed out, reaching up as she used her fingernail to scratch off some of the powder from a legbone. "This is just a stage prop. Now, are you all finished acting like children? Shall we go back?"

"Not on your life!" the final man stated, clearing his throat as he attempted to sound confident. "I say this only proves we are getting close! We should continue."

There was some debate about this from the others, but in the end, they agreed to forge on, with Meg and her Matador once more bringing up the rear. Erik had found this more amusing than he had anticipated, and decided he was looking forward to what came next. Little had he known when he planted these traps that he would be an eyewitness to their effects. If he had, he might have spent a little more time on them, perfecting the execution. Still, as it was, things were progressing just fine, and he almost eagerly pushed them along through the tunnels.

Once again, as they neared the area quickly approaching, he tugged on Meg's arm to hold her back. For the second time, she gave him a suspicious look at his actions.

"Are you feeling feeble and tired again, Monsieur Matador?" she questioned dryly.

"Something like that," he admitted, doing his best to hide his look of excitement as the lone male dancer and the ballerina that was clinging to him stepped over the trap door, plunging them both into the darkness below.

This time the screams were deafening, from both those who had fallen and those who remained above. Even Meg had let out a startled cry, yet it would appear only for their safety, not out of fright. She once more ran forward, teetering on the edge of the hole that had opened up in the floor.

"Michael! Lizette!" she called frantically to them. "Are you hurt?"

The sound of splashing water and sputtering was all that was heard at first, but then came the call that had them all sighing in relief.

"We…we're fine," Michael called up to them. "We fell in water! We're all right."

Meg was about to question how they were going to get them back up, when a large rope appeared out of nowhere, dropping from the ceiling and dangling down into the dark pit. This startled the blonde dancer, and she jumped backwards, but the sudden appearance of the rope seemed to push little Jammes over the edge of sanity, and she fell to the floor in a faint.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Meg mumbled in a grumpy tone, once more rolling her eyes at the embarrassing antics of her companions. "Can you two find the rope? It's dangling right over the center!" She reached back, grabbing the lantern that another of the girls had managed to hold on to, lifting it up so they could hopefully see to locate it.

"Yes! I found it," Michael shouted up. "I'll hold it steady from down here, so Lizette can climb up."

"All right…we'll be here to grab her when she does," Meg informed him. Then looking back at poor little Jammes, unconscious on the ground, she added, "Or at least _most _of us will."

.

.

It took little time for the two of them to climb out through the trapdoor, their fear and chill from the frigid water being highly motivating. Once they were up, it was decided that they would go no further, not wanting to end up dead the next time they encountered one of the Phantom's traps. Michael, though shivering and wet, offered to carry little Jammes back up, seeing as how she was in no condition to do so on her own. All the while, Erik had stood back, silently chuckling at his handiwork and the effects it had on the dancers. He would have to make sure to be on hand the next time anyone ventured down to hunt for him, for this had been highly entertaining. Erik's eyes lit up with excitement as an idea came to him. He might even send out invitations…with maps!

As they made their way back up the tunnels, Erik couldn't help but notice that Meg continued to stare at him, as if trying to piece together a puzzle. It was both unnerving and thrilling at the same time. He enjoyed her scrutiny, oddly enough.

Yet, he was quite perplexed when only a few steps before they would have exited back onto the ground level, she reached out and halted him.

"Are _you_ now the one who is too tired and feeble to continue, Mademoiselle Giry?" he asked, humor in his tone.

"Hardly," she scoffed. "I simply don't wish to return to the party just yet," Meg told him. "Care to follow me on yet another adventure, Monsieur Matador?"

"Back down to the Phantom's lair?" he questioned, thinking that would not be the wisest choice.

"No…the opposite," she grinned, holding out her hand in an invitation for him to take.

Erik paused for only a moment, doing some mental calculations over the time. He figured he still had an hour at least before he had planned to make his appearance to the managers with his new opera. He could spare a few more minutes with the delightful Meg Giry and still make his deadline.

So, placing his hand in hers, he let her lead him through twists and turns – ones he knew like the back of his hand - up staircases and across catwalks, until they exited at last onto the rooftop. The evening air was brisk, but hardly chilly, and Meg seemed to embrace the temperature change with both arms, breathing in deeply as she closed her eyes.

"Perfect!" she hummed in satisfaction.

Erik found he had to agree, but he did not mean the weather, _he meant her_. Still, as he looked around, he recalled that the last time he had been up here was the night the Opera had performed Il Muto. The night that he had overheard Christine telling the vacuous vicomte that she loved him. Erik could feel his blood boil at the memory, of how he had felt so crushed, so betrayed, that he had foolishly brought the chandelier down on stage in a fit of anger. He had regretted that soon after, it being one of the reasons he had chosen to entomb himself in his lair and focus on his writing, and not interact with anyone for many months. It had been his penance…and it took him that long to simmer down after having been so deceived.

Yet, tonight, he was standing here with another…not Christine. Meg had led him up to the heights this time, desiring his company over her friends once more. He stared up at Apollo and his lyre, recalling how he had hidden behind its large form, huddled in darkness as his heart and mind had grown even darker. But not this time. He was standing in plain sight, and the view before him took his breath away.

"I love coming up here," Meg announced, walking to the side and looking over the stone wall at the city below. "I can see everything on a clear night, all the way to Montmartre." She reached up and pointed at the cathedral sitting atop the hilltop. "Up here I feel…_free_."

"And might I enquire why it is you feel so hindered?" Erik asked, coming to stand beside her as they both gazed at the city lights.

"Many reasons," Meg informed him absentmindedly. "First there's my mother, who seems to think I am still a child and treats me as such. Then my dancing, which I worry will never lead to the fame and fortune I had always dreamed. I mean I love it, I truly do, but getting noticed for your talent is a shot in the dark at best. Maybe if I was a singer, or as talented as my roommate, Christine, but…sadly, I can't carry a tune in a bucket and lately I'm starting to feel a bit overlooked." Here she turned and glanced up at him, her cheeks growing red in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dump this all on you. And I know it sounds very petty, but it gets rather frustrating when nothing good ever seems to come your way. Understand?"

"Actually…I do," Erik muttered, leaning his forearms on the brick wall as he laced his fingers together. "This world is full of unfairness, where some rise to power and prestige and others are forced to wallow in obscurity. It matters not if they are worthy of such a position, just that the fickle hand of fate has chosen to grace them with the touch of gold, or..." he had almost said _the face of a monster_, but he had thankfully caught himself in time.

"Exactly," Meg sighed, either not noticing that he didn't finish his sentence, or choosing to ignore it. "And while I only allow myself to wallow in self-pity occasionally, it's nice to know that there are those out there who understand where I'm coming from." She grinned up at her companion, the light of joy returning to her eyes. "Now enough of this, let's instead talk about something else."

"Anything you have in mind?" Erik questioned, a bit concerned by the sudden gleam of mischief he saw in her eyes.

"How about the way _you_ seemed to know more than you should about our trek to find the Phantom's Lair?" she suggested, leaning forward as she rested her chin on her knuckles and stared at him expectantly. "I would very much like to hear about that."

"I do not know what you mean," he lied, stiffening up just a bit.

"Oh, so you just _happen_ to have pulled me back exactly before the skeleton dropped and the trap door gave way…_both times?"_ she pressed, her eyes bright with humor and excitement as she watched him for a reaction.

"Intuition?" Erik offered, not wishing to admit his guilt, yet oddly unwilling to outright deny it either.

"Riiiiight," she hummed, not fooled for a moment, yet polite enough not to push. They were quiet for a long while, the two of them enjoying each other's company and the view, before Meg spoke again. "I saw him once," she announced out of the blue. "The Phantom, I mean."

"I recall you saying so in the tunnels," he responded, not sure how the conversation had circled around to this again.

"No, I mean I _saw_ him," she repeated, this time emphasizing the word she wished to stress. "I saw the Opera Ghost…_without his mask."_

Erik's head jerked around as he gaped at the tiny dancer, his jaw dropping open, imagining he had somehow misunderstood her. It couldn't be! He had always been so careful.

"It was many, many years ago," she went on, not looking his way or acting as if she noticed his stunned reaction. "I was upset with my mother about something one evening and ran off to pout. I was sitting on one of the overhead catwalks, when I spotted him on the darkened stage below. He seemed very tall, but then again, I was also very short at the time, and he was wearing a black fedora hat and a cape, so he blended in quite nicely. Yet, he stopped right below me, just far enough to the side that I had a perfect view of him. I recall holding my breath, fearing he would look up and find me there, but he was far too interested in something he held in his hand than in me. I couldn't make out what it was, but whatever he held made him sad."

_"Sad?"_ Erik was confused. He wracked his brain to recall the incident, yet he was unable to ply his mind to the task when she continued speaking, not wishing to miss a moment of the story.

"Yes, he twisted it around his finger several times, rubbing the back of it with his thumb, as if it were a cherished memento," Meg continued. "Then, he reached up and removed his mask, apparently to wipe at his eyes, which I was shocked to find were full of tears. He was crying, and I had no idea why." At this she turned her face to his. "It was that night that I ceased fearing the Opera Ghost as others did. For it was that night that I came to realize that he too had feelings, just like us…just like any human does."

Erik didn't know what to say, for how did one respond when given a gift beyond price…_humanization._ Never had he expected anyone to see him as anything but a monster and a threat, but here was this delicate ballerina speaking of the Opera Ghost as if he were nothing more than any other man…one who had feelings and could feel pain.

"And did…did his features not horrify you?" Erik asked at last, having to swallow several times in order to get his words out.

"I suppose I was startled…at first," she shrugged. "Mostly because of all the rumors that had been circulating, but to be honest, it wasn't as bad as I had imagined. Many soldiers have come back from war looking worse than he did, but where others see _them_ as heroes…they claim that _he_ is a monster. I hardly think that's fair."

"I believe we already established the fact that life is not fair," Erik grumbled. "Yet, I find your compassion for him and others very admirable. If only the rest of the world saw things as you do."

"It doesn't hurt that I know my mother owes much of our livelihood to the Phantom as well," she chuckled. "He has been very generous with us over the years, and we are in his debt."

"I hardly believe that," he scoffed. "I am certain that _he_ is the one indebted to your mother for all her efforts in helping him perpetuate his ghostly persona."

"Perhaps," Meg nodded. "Mother is very good at what she does, both on the stage and off. I'm sure it's what they call a symbiotic relationship. One that benefits both parties." Just then a gust of wind blew over them, causing Meg to shiver as she rubbed her arms with her hands to stave off the cold.

"Here," Erik offered, removing the red cape he had worn over his shoulder, offering it to her as he helped drape it snuggly around her. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you," she smiled, pulling it tightly about her shoulders. "You know, for an unwilling participant who was originally roped into all this, you're turning out to be quite enjoyable company."

"And for a brash and pushy future prima ballerina, you are quite delightful yourself," Erik chuckled, amazed that he meant every word.

"So, you think I'm brash and pushy, do you?" she questioned, her expression morphing into one of mischief. "Then perhaps you won't be so terribly surprised if I do _this?"_ And before Erik could even fathom what she meant, Meg went up on her tip-toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her lips to his in a very unexpected kiss.

Erik froze, every muscle in his body going rigid as ice. Meg was kissing him! Kissing…_him! _And while somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should react in some other way than complete paralysis, he simply couldn't! He had never been this close to a woman before, not his mother, not Madame Giry, or even Christine! He had lived his life unloved, uncared for, and most certainly untouched…at least by hands that did not mean to inflict pain. His lips burned with a fire he had never dreamed he would experience, and he found that even if he couldn't respond, he could certainly revel in the new and fascinating feelings overtaking him. Erik was being kissed.

Sadly, as he had suspected, this joy didn't last long, and much sooner than he would have liked, Meg pulled back and looked up at him in embarrassment.

"I…I'm sorry," she mumbled, her eyes dropping downward as her cheeks became a lovely scarlet color. "I didn't mean to be so forward. My mother often says I leap before I look, and I am so sorry if I offended you, Monsieur Matador."

"E-e-rik," he all but gasped, his voice raspy and thin as he attempted to speak after such an experience. "My name is…Erik."

His words brought Meg's eyes back to his, both searching for something they desperately wanted to see reflecting back.

"It's very nice to meet you, Erik," Meg grinned.

"And I assure you, Mademoiselle Giry, you in no way offended me, nor do I find you at all too forward," he continued, wanting to make it crystal clear how he felt about her kiss. "I was…simply taken off guard is all. But please believe me, I enjoyed it quite thoroughly."

"As did I," she blushed once more, but never let her gaze fall. "And since it was mutually pleasurable for both of us, how about we try it one more time…just to be sure."

"I would not be opposed to that," Erik was only too quick to agree.

So it was, that the Opera Ghost found himself on the receiving end of the second kiss he had ever experienced in his lifetime, and best of all…this time he was a willing participant. Granted, he had little experience with such things, but thankfully instinct kicked in, and he followed Meg's lead, hoping that he was not making too much of a fool of himself. Where the first had been jarring, the second was much better, the two of them slipping comfortably into each other's embrace. Erik found he loved the way she hummed during the kiss, causing tantalizing vibrations against his lips. He also enjoyed her tender, but firm, grip on his neck, as she allowed him to rain light kisses on all the exposed flesh beneath her mask. Her lips, her chin, her cheeks and even the small spot behind her ear that caused her to emit the most delicious moan of pleasure he had ever heard. Oh, this was undoubtedly the happiest he had ever been in all his life.

When they drew apart at last, both were breathing hard as they continued to stare at one another. Erik was afraid to speak for fear that the moment would shatter into a thousand pieces, never to be reformed again. Yet, despite how much he desperately wanted this to continue, he knew it was not possible. So many things stood in the way…his monstrous face being top of the very long list.

"Meg…as much as I desire to continue, I…I think we should stop," he choked out, detesting the words on his lips. "We cannot do this. It is not fair to you."

"Why not?" she questioned, giving him a smirk. "Was I not the one who kissed you first? If you think you are leading me on, or some such nonsense, rest assured I am in full control of my faculties."

"Your faculties perhaps…but not the facts," he stated sadly, taking a step back and letting his hands fall to his side, when all they wanted to do was grab hold of her and pull her closer. "You are acting on misinformation, and as such I feel it necessary that I take my leave of you. Thank you for a very pleasant evening, Meg…it is a night I will never forget."

At this he quickly turned, heading for the door on unwilling legs, yet he forced them to comply. He might be considered a monster, but even he would not bring any harm, physical or emotional, to such a compassionate woman.

"It's one I won't forget either, Monsieur Matador," Meg called to him as he walked away. "Or should I call you Erik…or perhaps, The Phantom?"

This caused Erik to stumble to a halt, his back once more ram-rod straight as he slowly turned to stare at the dancer behind him. _Had he heard her correctly?_

"I know who you are," she stated, answering his unspoken question. "You are the Opera Ghost. The Phantom of the Opera. And I'm also willing to bet that you are Christine's Angel of Music."

"How…how do you know?" Erik was dazed and shaken by her words…each one of them the complete truth.

"I think you already know the answer to that. I've known about you all my life, I've listened to tales, heard my mother speak of you, and then of course, there was Christine, who talked about her glorious Angel nonstop for years on end," Meg explained, taking a few cautious steps towards him. "I will admit that I was suspicious of your identity tonight when you insisted on me calling you _The Matador,_ but when you navigated the ghost's lair so easily, there was no doubt left in my mind. You are him. In the flesh."

"Yes…in the _deformed_ flesh!" Erik spoke harshly, suddenly worried that this little pixy would soon be calling for help, wishing to turn him over to the authorities for a handsome reward.

"Ah, but you forget, I've seen what you hide beneath your mask," she reminded him, now only a few inches separating the two of them. "I have seen what it is you choose to conceal…and it didn't stop me from sharing, what I consider, a most passionate kiss with you. You do not frighten me, Erik."

"Then you are a foolish child," Erik responded, though his tone was far less stern than when he last spoke.

"No, I am a _woman_! One who has cared about you since she was very young, but a woman nonetheless," she corrected. "I have felt your pain, seen your struggles, and wanted to punish everyone who had ever hurt you in the past. Tonight I was able to live out a dream…that of dancing with you. Of spending the evening in your company, and in your arms. I think I've been in love with you since I was eight years old." Here she gave him a shy smile. "Granted, I never told my mother about my fantasies, feeling that she would disapprove."

"I am more than certain she would!" Erik scoffed, just imagining what Madame Giry would do to him if she was privy to this conversation.

"Yet, it has never stopped me from imagining a night like tonight," Meg continued, boldly reaching up to encircle his neck with her arms once again. "And I for one, would like it to see it continue."

Erik could never recall being so tongue tied, or at a loss for words, in his life. How had this night turned out so different that what he had planned, and in such an amazing way, no less? If he wasn't so sure that he was indeed awake, he would believe this was all a dream. And yet, this was so beyond any of his pathetic fantasies, that he knew it had to all be true.

"Meg…I do not believe you know what it is you are saying," he stammered, her touch and nearness having a profound effect on him.

"Erik, I am not a child," she stated firmly. "I am not some flighty girl who can't make up her mind what she wants, nor am I seeing this situation through rose colored glasses. These feelings will not go away, nor do I want them to. I want to spend time with you, get to know you better, and perhaps discover if you are able to find it in your heart to care for me."

"Oh, Meg," Erik sighed, his arms automatically reaching out to hold her as if his life depended on it. "I would be hard pressed indeed _not_ to allow such feelings for you to grow within me, and yet, I still do not think it wise. What would the world say…what would you _mother_ say?"

"I don't know…should we ask her?" Meg questioned, a sly grin coming to her lips.

"NO!" Erik barked out, though there was humor in his tone, as he knew she was teasing him.

"Excellent, then you agree that we should continue our relationship in secret!" she stated hopefully.

"Relationship?" Erik was rather unfamiliar with that word…at least where it pertained to him. "You see us having a…relationship?"

"Well, I'm certainly _not _the type to play loose and free with my affections," she told him rather crossly. "If you do not wish to go about this the proper way, then speak now, for I will not…"

"NO!" he quickly cut her off, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. "I would be more than honored to court you, in any way you please! I simply do not know how to go about such a thing. I have never been in a relationship before, nor had I ever dreamed of being blessed by the privilege."

"I've never been courted before either," she assured him shyly. "So perhaps we could both learn together?"

"I…I would like that very much," Erik told her in a gentle whisper.

"Shall we seal it with a kiss then?" Meg asked hopefully.

"It would seem the proper thing to do," he nodded, grinning happily at this sudden, and most unexpected, turn of events.

Their third kiss was slow and soft, the two of them taking time to become familiar with their feelings. Erik found he loved the way she was running her fingers over his shoulders and down his back, enjoying the way his own hands nearly encircled her entire waist. He could feel himself shaking slightly, and tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall as wave after wave of emotions overtook him. If this was a dream, Erik never wanted to awaken. And if it was truly reality, then he swore he would never sleep again for fear of missing even a moment of such bliss.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the hour, causing Meg to pull away rather suddenly.

"OH! The time!" she squeaked, her hands flying to her head in shock. "My mother will be wondering where I am! No doubt she's already sent out the gendarme looking for me! I have to get back to the masquerade ball!"

"Of course," Erik agreed, not wanting to worry Meg's mother, or be caught by her while attempting to woo her daughter. "Allow me to escort you, for I would not have you traversing the passageways this late at night alone."

"And who would I have to fear?" Meg giggled. "The Opera Ghost?"

"Oh, no, my sweet Meg," Erik told her in all earnest. "You never need fear him, for he would lay down his life to protect yours."

"My, my…but you do know how to make a lady's heart flutter," she whispered back, her voice nearly stolen by his sentiments.

"I have made a woman's heart skip a beat in fear. I have made one or two faint from fright. But never have I had the privilege of causing one to flutter before," Erik confessed, loving how Meg's eyes appeared to become rather dreamy.

"Then this, along with many other things tonight, shall be a first," she concluded, taking his proffered arm as they headed for the doorway. "But I can guarantee that it will not be the last time you make me feel this way."

"I will do all in my power to see to that," Erik smiled, knowing he meant every word.

.

.

Their trip down the stairs was made mostly in silence, attempting to avoid any who might be lingering around, not wanting to be seen on their way back to the ballroom. When they at last reached the large double doors, Erik stopped Meg before she could enter.

"When can I see you again?" he begged, not daring to let her go without a promise of there being a next time.

"Anytime you wish," she said, giving him a saucy wink. "You are the Phantom, after all." Yet she quickly became serious. "I will meet you on the rooftop again tomorrow night after dinner."

"Come _before_ dinner," he urged. "I will supply the food, if you provide the company."

"Now that is an offer I will gladly accept," Meg grinned, quickly reaching up and giving him a quick kiss to his lips. "See you then." And with that, she was gone, slipping through the door and weaving through the crowd of guests.

Erik stood there and watched her go, his fingers gently touching his lips as he reveled in the new sensation such displays of affection afforded him. He still couldn't believe it…she had kissed him, several times! And she knew who he was, she knew what he looked like, and still she had not shied away. How had he overlooked such a goddess all this time? Had he been blind?

Just then he spotted Madame Giry approach her daughter, speaking with her as her arms waved around in obvious agitation. Thankfully, whatever Meg said seemed to placate the often-volatile woman, and she appeared satisfied. The blonde dancer hugged her mother and then flitted away, more than likely to visit with some of her friends. Erik took a step back when his box-keeper's eyes turned in his direction, not believing she could see him from where he hid, but it unnerved him nonetheless. He breathed a sigh of relief when she turned once again and continued on as if everything was fine.

That's when his eyes fell next to Christine, still being fawned over by that buffoon of a Vicomte, Raoul. Yet, as he watched the two, Erik suddenly realized that he didn't feel upset…and not even a bit jealous. At first, he found this odd, and a bit disturbing, yet the more he thought on it, the answer came to him. He had never had true feelings of affection for Christine. Yes, he had been jealous of her time, and felt that the boy was taking her away from her lessons…but in the end, Erik had been obsessed with her voice, and not Christine at all. She had simply been an instrument he wished to perfect, while Meg was a woman he wished to pursue.

Erik found himself smiling as a chuckle escaped his throat. All this time he had been so confused, imagining that feelings of affection existed when there were none. Not him for her, and certainly not her for him…if the way she continued to gaze at the Vicomte was any indication. It was then that he noticed that Christine's eyes mirrored those of Meg's, but the amazing part was, the blonde dancer had been looking at_ him_ at the time! It made his heart soar to think that he at last was the recipient of her amorous gaze, and he could only imagine that he looked no less adoring than Raoul did when he looked back at Meg. And Erik loved it.

Shutting the door all the way, he turned and headed for the secret tunnels, recalling his plans for the evening. His opera and Red Death costume still awaited, yet he no longer found he wished to make an appearance this night. No…first, Erik had some work to do. He would let everyone have their night of fun and frivolity. He would allow Christine to hang on the arm of her lover. And he would not make his demands on the managers just yet.

Slipping into one of his secret entrances, he retrieved his costume and musical score, heading down the tunnels towards his lair. He was still anxious to see his masterpiece performed, however, he would spend some time adding in one or two very special dance numbers, geared to showcase one very special ballet dancer in particular. He was already humming a tune as he imagined Meg gracefully dancing to it on stage. Ah yes, he would do it for her.

Tonight _had _been the night. The night Erik believed he would at last get everything he ever dreamed of. True, he had been waiting six long months to see his Don Juan Triumphant presented and performed at his opera. Yet now, all that paled in comparison to the hopes and dreams that grew within his heart over the promises that little Meg Giry had made. She said she _loved_ him. She had _kissed_ him…and all the while knowing what he looked like beneath his mask. Oh yes, everything _had_ changed in a mere moment, assuring him that Don Juan was not the only one who would triumph, for this time, Erik would as well.

**The End**

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**And there you go, Erik gets his happy ending. He and Meg will continue to court...and hopefully M. Giry won't kill him before they figure out how this all ends. ha ha.**

**Did you enjoy Erik having far too much fun leading the dancers down in his lair?**

**And of course Meg knew all along who he was...and wow, she saw him without his mask. So her kissing him can be taken as real affection, since she knew what he's been hiding.**

**Thanks again for reading! I hope to see you all again, you just never know when my muse will lead me back here to Erik.**

**FP33**

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**Guest Reviews:**

**If you leave a guest review for THIS chapter, I will be updating this posting periodically to answer you here. So if you leave me a review, check back in about two or three days to see my response.**

**Guest:** I'm glad you like the dancing and their conversation...Meg was enjoying it too, and so was Erik after a bit. ha ha. And yes, this is a Meg and Erik pairing. Never tried it before, and while I couldn't think of a full length story line, this was fun to play around with. And as you saw...the Red Death confrontation didn't happen, Erik has other plans now. ha ha. Thanks for your kind review.

**St. Cyr:** I appreciate your enthusiasm for more of this story, I just hope this last chapter satisfied your craving. I never planned to take it any further, but I did have fun with it. From your second review, I bet you've read Prelude by BenSara, where Erik and Antoinette Giry get together. I think everyone has their favorite parings, and I've read so many different ones that are great. I still write mostly E/C...but you never know what will pop into my mind and demand to be written. ha ha. Thanks for your kind words and hope you enjoyed my tale. FP33

**Guest RP:** Oh yes, we do love mischievous Erik...he's the best. Then stick him with an equally silly Persian and you have a recipe for fun. Sorry, no Persian in this short story. I do like Meg too, she is feisty. Thanks.

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**Reviews for chapter 2**

**Guest:** I'm happy you found it sweet. Erik deserves sweet now and then, right? Thanks for reading. FP33


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